


Victoria’s Secret, Part 1

by von_gelmini



Series: Prompt Fics [6]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Kissing, M/M, Modeling, Musicians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 20:54:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21344560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/von_gelmini/pseuds/von_gelmini
Summary: Anonymous said to starkerstories:What about Peter being a Victoria secret model and happily married, Tony stark lead singer of the avengers. Tony and his band do a performance for Victoria secret fashion show and Peter does the walkPart 2 ishere.*sigh* One of these days I will end a series when I say I will end a series. That is to say... Expect a Part 3.Well, I can't write anything without a Starker endgame, so 'happily married' isn't so happy after all. But I tried for everything else.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark, Quentin Beck/Peter Parker
Series: Prompt Fics [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1537483
Comments: 16
Kudos: 208





	Victoria’s Secret, Part 1

“Peter, darling, sweetheart,” the man’s voice was dripping with sarcasm, “if you don’t get your spoiled, princess, diva ass out there on that runway to the music that’s programmed…”

“You’ll what, Quentin?” Peter put his hands on his slim, lingerie-clad hips. “I am your headliner. You’ve designed your entire winter collection around me. Winter _ and _ Christmas catalogues with my face and this ass, that you love to fuck so much, have shipped around the world. You’ll do _ exactly _ nothing darling, sweetheart, _ princess _. Now tell the band that I don’t care what kind of music they play or what you have lined up. My final walk is to ‘Umbrella’!”

“It’s too fast!”

“It is not too fast for _ me _ . I’ve timed it. I walk down, back, down, then back for the bow and designer reveal. That’s all that matters to you. You’re just afraid you won’t get _ your _ moment of glory. This show isn’t about the designer. You’re nobody. Just the flavor of the month for a brand that doesn’t have your name on it. I am the bankable talent here, darling. You moved in with me, not the other way around. So shut up and let the _ talent _ be talented. God! You’d think I was committing a crime! I just want to carry my lace parasol.”

“That Victoria’s Secret doesn’t make!”

“Tell that to someone who cares,” Peter said, walking away with a shrug.

Tony and his band, the Avengers were setting up when they heard the altercation. Quentin Beck, lead designer for Victoria’s Secret and his husband were known to both be tempermental. Combine two temperaments like theirs and the stress of a major show and you get fireworks. Tony had expected the yelling from Quentin but hearing beautiful, delicate, _ angelic _ Peter giving back as good — no, far better — as he got? Damn, that was simply stunning.

“You guys can manage that, right?” Tony asked the band.

“Yeah, but it’s a little, like _ way _, out of your skills and vocal range.”

“Fuck you Rogers. You guys have never come close to _ testing _ my skills. You just need to find me a key I can sing it in. You can do that? If not, I know Bucky can transpose it. He writes most of what we play no matter who’s name goes first for ASCAP.”

Bucky, the Avengers’ keyboardist, laughed and pulled Steve away, soothing the ruffled egos between the Avengers’ lead singer and lead guitarist. “Between me and Steve, we’ll get something for you. Give me your sustained high?”

Tony let out with a surprisingly high tenor note that he held for much longer than his band ever gave him credit for. Then he turned and looked disgustingly smug at all of them. Bucky laughed. “Shit man, why didn’t you let me hear that before?”

Tony shrugged. “Why waste my voice on the crap you guys give me to sing?”

“He’s just trying to impress the diva,” Clint said as he made sure his drum platform was ready. “I saw you checking out his ass. His _ married _ ass.”

Tony rolled his eyes and went off to run the song, trying to get comfortable with it, working on different expressions, waiting on the two songwriters to get him the transposed music from the sheets Peter had supplied Quentin. Fortunately, he was a quick read with a nearly eidetic memory, so even though it came with only minutes to spare, he had it. 

Everything went off without a hitch, including the final walk which ended to uproarious, standing applause for Peter, and polite ‘we’re looking for our programs so we can get out of here and make the next show’ applause when Quentin made his designer bow.

As part of the band, Tony was expected to help break down the equipment. As the lead singer, he felt that once his mics were packed up, his job was done. He headed out the back door and lit a cigarette. 

“You’re a singer. You shouldn’t do that,” a soft voice said through sniffles.

Tony chuckled. “I know. But sometimes your co-workers…” He looked over and saw Peter, shed of his wings, but still in his heels and lingerie, shivering in the cold. Tears smeared his makeup and were still running down his face. Tony shucked off his jacket and wrapped it around the boy’s shoulders. “What’s the matter? You were… you were beautiful.”

“‘It’s called a runway. That doesn’t mean you run down it’,” Peter quoted. “I looked like an idiot.”

“Were you at a different show than I was? Did you not see everyone on their feet when you finished?”

Peter shrugged. “They do that at the end of every show. The shows are booked so close together, they start to leave as soon as the last chord is played.”

Tony shook his head. “They did that when your husband came out. Not when you were on stage, baby.”

Peter smiled through his tears. ‘Baby’ in the singer’s voice sounded so much better than it did from his husband’s. It wasn’t a cutting insult, it wasn’t designed to make him feel immature. It sounded… sweet. “I’m Peter.”

“I know. Everybody knows who the Victoria’s Secret cover model is. I’m Tony.”

“Your voice was great on ‘Umbrella’. It wasn’t a copy of Rhianna’s. You made it your own.”

“You made that runway your own, sweetheart. Everybody’s going to be talking about you for weeks.”

Sweetheart. Tony probably said things like that all the time. But he said them _ nice _. Peter shrugged. “Good or not, I have the ad shoot scheduled then the video. By the time that airs, everyone will have forgotten about my run down the runway.”

Tony ground out his cigarette and went to stand next to Peter. “Peter, don’t you know how good you are?”

“I know how good I used to be. When I was fourteen, fifteen, seventeen. Twenty one’s pushing it for a runway model. My body is losing the proper shape for this line. My shoulders are too big. My arms… god, they’re _ so _ not skinny anymore. I have to not eat for _ days _ and not drink for at least twelve hours before I walk. I’ve still got a good waist and good legs, but for how long?” He sighed. “Another year, maybe two and I’ll be living off Quentin not the other way around.” He closed his eyes. “I’ll be screwed then.”

“Leave him.”

“He takes care of me. He got Victoria’s Secret to take me on even though I’m a boy.” Peter smiled. “I was _ groundbreaking _.” His smile disappeared. “I love him.”

“Baby, you sound like you’re trying _ really hard _ to convince yourself of that.”

“He just gets this way when it’s a big show. It’s harder for a designer. He’s trying to get his own line started. It’s just… funding that…” Peter sighed. “What I should’ve kept from my high earning years… it’s gone. I haven’t told him yet.” 

“Baby, you deserve better than that,” Tony said, drawing his jacket tighter around Peter, overlapping the front to protect him from the cold. “You deserve someone who worships you.”

Peter looked down and blushed. He looked back up, realism settling over him again. “I look a wreck. I didn’t take my makeup off. That’ll ruin my skin.”

“Yeah, and the cigarettes will ruin my voice,” Tony said, laughing. He ran his fingers through Peter’s messy curls. “We all need a sin. Mine is ruining my voice. Yours is looking too beautiful for this world.” Tony leaned down, put his finger under Peter’s delicate chin, and raised his face. Two things Tony knew how to do. Sing and kiss. Peter melted. No one he’d kissed before felt so good doing that.

“What the fuck!” The kiss was hastily broken. Quentin pulled on Peter’s arm. Noticing what he was wearing over his lingerie, he jerked the coat off him and threw it to the ground. “I was looking for you backstage. Where you belonged. God, look at you. Your face is a fucking mess.” He dragged Peter along behind him to the stage door. “How are you going to do a photo shoot with fucked up skin? Pizza-face is not a good look on you, _ sweetheart _.”

Oh. Yes. That’s the way ‘sweetheart’ was supposed to sound. Peter disappeared behind the door, knowing better than to glance back at Tony.

“The van’s loaded.” Even Clint sounded annoyed with Tony tonight.

~~~

“A photography gig?” Steve looked at the schedule. “That’s our rehearsal day. We’re finally back in New York after four weeks on the road and I have three months of jazz clubs lined up. I don’t want to be stuck doing nothing but the back catalogue. I’ve got four new songs…”

Tony rolled his eyes. “And I’ll have them when I need them. You and the rest of the band can rehearse. I only need Bucky for this gig.”

“Why?” Steve asked.

“It’s outside the band’s oeuvre,” Tony said, leaning back in his chair, taking in the ceiling.

“Our _ oeuvre _?” Rhodey, the vibraphonist, laughed.

“It doesn’t need the rest of you. Only voice and keyboard,” Tony explained.

“Our fucking _ oeuvre _,” Clint repeated, laughing.

“Oh god, shut the fuck up,” Tony covered his face, rolling his eyes again behind his hand.

“It’s classical,” Bucky explained.

“Classical doesn’t take voice, Buck,” Steve said, suspiciously. 

Tony sat up. “If you must know, it’s opera,” he said, flouncing out, not un-diva-like, and heading down the hall to his bedroom.

Those left in the room, except Bucky, cracked up.

“You play opera now, Bucky?” Steve asked, eyebrows heading for the ceiling.

“I play whatever’s put in front of me, Steven. I sight read.”

“Oooh. Trouble in paradise,” Nat, the chanteuse who spelled Tony during their gigs, said.

The pieces Tony chose were nothing spectacular. Nothing show-offy. Little more than vocalizations he’d put together from several sources. Tranquility was required for a photoshoot. Except when the photographer wanted things to pick up. There Tony had some metal and some old prog rock prepared. He’d gotten Bucky the music four days ago and they’d rehearsed in a rented studio on their own time before telling the band. It would be easy to move into whichever mood the photographer wanted at any given time.

The Avengers, not even Tony, ever did photography gigs. But then the model being photographed was never Peter Beck before. 

Bucky laughed. “You have a crush on the Victoria’s Secret model. Half the guys in the world jerk off to the Victoria’s Secret model. You do know he’s happily married.”

“Maybe not so happily,” Tony said with a shrug. 

“Always looks happy in the interviews.”

“They’re paid to look happy in interviews.”

Bucky shook his head. “You’re gonna get your heart broken, Tony.”

“Gotta have a heart to get it broken, right?” he countered, knowing well his reputation as a playboy who ripped through girlfriends, boyfriends, and groupies by the dozens.

“And he’s gonna throw over his life with a wealthy designer to hit the road with a group of eternally broke musicians.”

“Beck’s not the one with the wealth in that relationship.”

Bucky snorted. “You lookin’ to be his… I dunno… what would that version of ‘sugar baby’ be?”

“God, Bucky, not everything is about money.” Tony paused. “And not everyone in the band is broke.”

Bucky cocked an eyebrow.

“Rich dead parents, okay? Why do you think the money always just ‘turns up’ when we need it really bad?”

“Fuck man.”

“Yeah. You guys know _ nothing _ about me,” Tony said, a little bitterly. No one had ever bothered to look past the exterior. But he was used to that.

“The opera?”

“My youth. Gave it up except for shower singing. Not manly enough. Dad always liked the jazz. Tolerated the metal and the rock.” 

“So that note you hit?”

Tony laughed. “No big deal. You’ll hear better on the vocalizations.” He paused. “Don’t you dare tell them.”

“So who’s to blame for nobody knowing you?”

“Nothing to know.”

Even before he was styled and was dressed in nothing but street clothes, Peter looked like an angel fallen from heaven. Quentin was too busy giving directions to the photographer, who was none too pleased to receive them, to notice the smile that Peter gave Tony when he saw who was providing the shoot’s music.

“Your first two or three dozen shots will be absolutely worthless. It takes him that long before he learns how to follow directions. Princess, quit gossiping with the stylist and get that tail over here.”

It wasn’t the stylist Peter kept looking at. Through the mirror, where no one would notice, he kept looking back at Tony. He hadn’t been kissed like that in… Had he _ ever _ been kissed like that? Kissing was fast and rushed and done only to get him ready to be fucked. Tony kissed like a man who _ liked _ kissing. For no other reason than he liked kissing.

Quentin was tearing through the wardrobe. “Not this, not this, god no not this he’ll look like a goddamn football player with his shoulders.” He turned back to where Peter was standing by the stylist’s counter, getting into his first outfit. “Did you drink that?” he shouted, looking at the open bottle of water on the table. “Fuck. Better shoot fast, he gets bloated.”

“Sweetheart,” Peter countered, his voice pouring with sarcasm and not a little disdain. “Go the fuck home. David is a professional. Ten of his last shoots were covers. Other than my divine ass, how many cover models do you have in your _ stable _.” It was clear that ‘stable’ meant people that Quentin fucked. “If the first dozen shots are ruined, it’s only because you won’t SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Peter’s voice rose to shouting. “Go home and work on those designs you can’t even give away. Leave me the fuck alone so I can work my ass off to pay for them.”

“Damn!” Bucky whispered. “You don’t have a crush, you’re fuckin’ in love.”

“I prefer to work on a closed set. Only one stylist, the music, and myself. Everyone else is a hindrance to the process,” David, the photographer said, picking up easily on who the problem was. To clear him, the other two stylists and his assistant left with Quentin.

“That better?” David asked, standing in front of Peter, rearranging his hair how he wanted it.

Peter leaned up and gave the man a quick peck on the cheek. “Thank you. I know you hated to lose your assistant.”

David shrugged. “I can work without him. It’ll just take a little longer to relight between sets. Is that okay?”

Peter glanced at Tony. “Perfect.”

Without Quentin there, Peter was entirely professional, doing what the photographer wanted when he wanted it. The music provided matched each mood, making it easier for Peter to fall into the character he was trying to portray. At thirty minutes a break was called. Peter fell into a large, comfy chair and closed his eyes.

“Baby,” Tony said softly, crouching down to the side of Peter’s legs. “Drink this.”

“I’ll get bloated,” Peter said, opening his eyes and pushing the bottle of water away.

“Two sips. It’s only water when it should be an electrolyte blend. Even angels work up a sweat,” Tony said, smiling. “Two sips won’t change a thing.”

Reluctantly, Peter took two swallows from the bottle. He winced and put his hand over his stomach.

“You okay?” Tony said, resting his hand over Peter’s.

Peter nodded. “No food, water… not always the greatest combination. It just lasts a second when the water hits.”

“Someone needs to take care of you, angel.”

“Quentin takes care of me,” Peter said, as if repeating a script. He looked up brightly. “Your singing was…” He sighed. “I’ve never heard anything like it.”

“Nothing special. Just some bits and pieces Bucky and I worked on. Not even one proper song or anything.”

“It was perfect.” Peter smiled. “I should insist on having you on every photoshoot. Make them hire you to write the background music for the winter video. Christmas has to be that awful Christmas music, but winter? I bet you and Bucky could come up with something beautiful for that.” 

Tony laughed. “Baby, no one is going to hire a couple of nobodies to do a major video production. That goes to names or to studio musicians with reputations.”

“They will if I insist and throw a fit if they don’t,” Peter gave a knowing grin.

Tony’s expression darkened. “Not after what your husband caught us doing. That will not work and you know it.”

Peter sighed heavily. “My husband’s not here,” he said quietly.

Tony smiled wanly. “I don’t want to mess up your makeup. Your stylist will have my head.”

“The next set is supposed to be sensual. I bet you could get me in the mood for that, without even singing. My stylist can always fix my lip gloss.”

“Darling, you are temptation on two legs,” Tony said. He leaned up, tilted Peter’s head back, and kissed him deeply. When he broke the kiss, the boy’s head was still bent back, his eyes closed. He watched Peter’s breathless recovery, watched his long eyelashes flutter. Peter was still stunned and didn’t move as Tony rubbed the smeared lip gloss from the edges of the boy’s mouth and stepped out of the way. “Shoot him like this,” he said quietly to the photographer.

Peter was sprawled back in the chair, still wearing the lingerie from the last set, one of his shoes kicked off, heavy lidded, lips parted, and still dazed. David shot in the bad light, in the rough setting, camera clicking furiously until Peter blushed and realized what was going on. He sat up.

David scrolled through pictures, looking at them on the small screen on the back of the camera. “Fuck me,” he muttered.

Tony reached a hand down to help Peter up. He brought that hand to his lips. “Your stylist is waiting for you, baby.”

He went around to where the music set up was. “Beck is going to have your ass,” Bucky whispered.

“I don’t care,” Tony said, wiping lip gloss off onto the back of his hand.

Halfway through the next set, David came around the backdrop and stopped the music. “Kiss him again.”

Tony chuckled but then followed to the front of the backdrop. He looked at Peter. “Is that okay?”

The boy only nodded.

“Use your words, beautiful. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.”

“Yes, Tony,” Peter said, biting his lip. “Oh! I shouldn’t do that.”

Tony chuckled again as he closed the distance between them. “Not gonna matter sweetheart. I’m just gonna mess it all up anyway.”

“Get rid of the shoes,” David said. 

Peter kicked them off. It set the boy down a good four inches below Tony’s height. Tony reached around Peter’s waist, lifting him until he was on the very tips of his toes. He tangled his other hand in Peter’s hair, messing it up from the styled perfection. And then he kissed the boy again. Longer. Deeper. More passionately than they had before. Tony was as lost in the kiss as Peter was. He didn’t hear the shutter clicks until the kiss was broken.

“You can’t show that,” Tony said, pulling Peter protectively against him. “I didn’t sign a release.”

“Yeah, actually, you did. It’s in the music contract. Needed it for background shots.”

“That wasn’t a background shot,” Tony growled angrily. His voice softened and he caressed the back of Peter’s head. “You’ll get him hurt.”

“They’re the best shots I’ve had all day, except for the chair ones, and these are properly lit.”

“Didn’t you hear me? You’ll get Peter _ hurt _. He’s married. Do you think his husband’s going to stand for that?”

David shrugged. “It’s the work. Models kiss all the time. It’s meaningless.”

“Is it meaningless what showed up in that one?” Tony countered. He stepped slightly away so he could look down at Peter. “I’m sorry baby. It wasn’t meaningless. Not to me.”

Peter started crying. “Not to me either.”

“Please don’t hurt him.”

“I’ll hold them until after the divorce that any idiot can see is coming.”

“He’ll use it,” Peter said, tearfully. “He’ll say I cheated. He’ll get everything.”

“Baby, don’t you have a prenup since you were the one with more assets?”

“I was seventeen when I married him.”

Tony clutched Peter to his chest again. “Shit baby.” He looked at the photographer again. “Please don’t hurt him. I was supposed to only get him ready for the next set, like I did in the chair.” He cupped Peter’s chin and lifted his tear streaked face and kissed him lightly. “Peter, I’m so so sorry baby.”

The shutter clicked.

“I will break your face and then every bone in your body. Do not think I can’t do it.” Tony let go of Peter and crossed to the photographer. “SD cards. Now.” He held out his hand. “The camera, and the laptop.”

David snorted. “I’ll sue your broke musician ass.”

Tony grabbed what he wanted. “I’m Howard Stark’s son. I fucking own Stark Industries. Bill me!” He looked back at Bucky. “You got the breakdown, Buck?”

“Yeah Tones,” Bucky said, stunned at the revelation. He never connected Tony’s last name to _ that _ Stark. There were a lot of Starks.

“C’mon baby. Get your things.” Tony stuffed the equipment into the stylists tote bag that he dumped out.

Peter quickly changed back into his street clothes.

“Let’s get out of here, sweetheart,” Tony said softly as he wrapped Peter up in his coat.

When they left the studio, Quentin was sitting in the lobby downstairs with the other dismissed people. 

“What the… You don’t walk out on me, you little tramp. You were nobody until I made you.”

“I made me, Quentin. And I will still be me after you’re gone. Who will you be? We’ll see who Victoria’s Secret values more. You, with your boring lingerie designs, or me, the face of their ad campaigns for the last THREE seasons.”

Quentin reached out to slap Peter across the face only to have his wrist caught by Tony. “Unh unh. I don’t think so.” Tony squeezed harder. “You put a handprint on this beautiful face and I won’t even leave you enough to jerk off with.”

Bucky came out carrying his keyboard case in one hand and Tony’s equipment case in the other. It was Tony’s case that caught Quentin’s head. “Got tired of listening to you threaten him,” he said as Quentin hit the floor.

“Don’t tell anyone, Bucky. It… it changes things when people know. I own the company, I don’t run it. I don’t want to be part of that world.”

“Tell them what?”

Tony leaned down and kissed the top of Peter’s head. “He’s not going to be able to hurt you. I’ll help you with the divorce. I know a good lawyer. She’ll take care of him.” He stopped on the street outside of the van. “If you let me…” Tony faltered. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll keep you safe.”

“I’ll need to sort things out… with your lawyer. He’s my manager. We have a contract.” Peter sighed. “That’ll be harder than the divorce.”

“I said I’d keep you safe baby. I know you’re strong enough. I’ll just… give you someone to come home to. If you want me.”

“Yes, Tony,” Peter said, leaning up to kiss Tony lightly. “I want you.”

Bucky laughed. “Who knew? Tony Stark has a heart.”

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 is [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21380743).  

> 
> * * *
> 
> My Starker blog on tumblr is [starker-stories](https://starker-stories.tumblr.com/).  
Come on by and visit.


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